


Fruit of the Heart

by melonbutterfly



Category: Life
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-28
Updated: 2009-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But why, if that is true, can't he stop offering her—she who is not his wife, nor his lawyer, nor anyone else who he likes for logical reasons— Charlie, Reese, fruits, the offering of fruits, and acceptance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit of the Heart

He offers her grapes, but she doesn't want them. Or maybe she does, just not from him; that's possible too. Charlie doesn't care much which of the two it is—or maybe he does, and that's what makes him wary of finding the answer. He doesn't want the answer; he wants his life complicated and simple.

Charlie wants his wife, his wife that isn't his wife anymore but should be and in a way, still is. There may be more to this, but he does not want to admit it—she's his wife. He's her husband. That's all, and that's everything. Right? But why, if that is true, can't he stop offering her—she who is not his wife, nor his lawyer, nor anyone else who he likes for logical reasons-

He offers her carambola, and he can tell she is tempted, but she refuses. Charlie likes the way carambolas look; they're special, peculiar, strange, and tasty. He wonders which drug nature was on when creating them; it has to have been something awesome. And the best thing is, carambolas not only look nice, they are also tasty, and that is a combination that has to have been made in heaven. Carambolas are the elite under the fruits—though of course, Charlie likes many fruits and wouldn't ever be able to choose only one and label it the best of them all. They're all good.

Somehow, Charlie wants her to like carambolas—he is not sure why. Maybe because they are so happy and they make him happy and there is so much happy about them (come on, stars? Stars are happy, they must be, hanging up there in the sky and twinkling and sparkling and being loved by everyone) and he thinks she could use some happy. It's not like he thinks she's unhappy; not really. But she isn't happy either, or maybe it's just that she isn't content; she needs something that makes her feel good, something that isn't alcohol or drugs or other destructive things. But maybe she likes being not-content; there are some people who do, who revel in being unhappy, bathe in it like Cleopatra bathed in warm milk.

He offers her cape gooseberries—also named physalis, or Chinese lantern, and isn't that cute?—because he likes how they hide under a dry, ugly cover and how they look like tiny, golden-orange suns. Pocket-suns, he thought when he saw them for the first time.

She needs a pocket-sun, he thinks.

He offers her lychees because he likes how they protect themselves with a hard, spicy shell, how sweet and soft and delicious they are underneath, and how they still have a hard core, enveloped by the soft sweetness; they're perfect in a way that is almost decadent in its flawless composition.

He offers her lychees, and she looks at him and for a moment, there is no room to breathe; there's something in her eyes, in her expression-

She takes the lychees.


End file.
